


By Twos

by MythosMeta



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, warning for temple creepiness i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21951448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythosMeta/pseuds/MythosMeta
Summary: For RvB secret santa 2019. My requester wanted Donut helping Doc with O'Malley and boy did i throw in some Temple for spice, length, and because i foam at the mouth for opposites, parallels, and anything else that comes in twos. Thanks!
Relationships: can be docnut if you want
Kudos: 29





	By Twos

The wine and cheese hour is a sacred time.

No negative Nancys beyond this point. Please keep your radios silenced. Leave your worldly concerns at the door. 

It is in Donut’s humble opinion that he should be thinking about food and drink pairings or the latest gossip, or better yet, nothing at all. He most definitely should not have to watch the expression of the only other human who made time for him in Valhalla and now the Blues and Reds base (barring Cronut who’s always been away with his team lately) grotesquely morph back and forth between that of his friend and his… not-quite-yet friend. Of course, the A.l. is no longer present and O’Malley is really a part of Doc, but who is Donut to judge? If they want to be addressed separately, he’s happy to accomodate.

Doc’s whole face seems to change when O’Malley surfaces. Donut muses it might be like meeting someone’s identical twin, all the same features but a completely different air- if the twins could instantly switch places with each other, they were almost total opposites, and no one ever saw them in the same room together. Like a superhero’s secret identity… or supervillain as the case may be. No matter how he frames it, it’s strange to watch the ordinarily, well, _ordinary_ face, meek with drawn brows and a worried frown, contort into the wicked smile that didn’t reach his flint-sharp eyes. It stands in stark relief against the huge, round glasses and gentle waves of brown hair.

Lopez has never even had a face of his own and he agreed it’s super weird. Or, at least, that’s what Donut thinks he said.

If Donut didn’t know any better, he’d think something even more poetic and dramatic about the situation. Like how deep and dark and pretty Doc’s eyes have always been, and how shocked he is to turn around some days and find they contain only malice.

That’s just not how it is at all. 

To fit O’Malley into their hodgepodge family, Donut would categorize him as a weird uncle. Like Sarge. He gets into trouble with the space cops, is too loud about his dumb opinions, and makes poor decisions which you hear all about at reunions. But he’s not all bad. Sometimes, he fires rockets inside a spaceship and saves your ass and suddenly you’re glad you didn’t dump your sweet tea on his head when you had the chance. 

Donut stifles a laugh and sets down his Moscato. He’s been in his head too long, and so has Doc. He waits for one voice to noticeably have the reins for a minute and clears his throat.

“So, O’Malley,” he says, “what do you think of our new friends?”

O’Malley scoffs. “I already knew them, fool. _I think_ they would’ve bothered to remember that. Much more attentive than some other candy-colored punching bags.”

Fair. “I said I was sorry. There was a lot going on!”

O’Malley’s smile seems to drain the strength from Donut’s. “Oh, wonderful to know that when the going gets tough, we stop keeping track of who was sent to a hell-dimension where any number of horrors might’ve been their grisly end.”

Doc cuts in to chide him, their shared head turning with the intention of addressing someone who lives inside yourself. “O’Malley. I keep telling you to let it go. I thought you got it out of your system when you said all that mean stuff to Grif on Chorus.”

“ _Our_ system. Frank ‘Doc’ DuFresne, you have the backbone of a chocolate eclair.”

“Éclair,” Doc corrects.

“Quiet, you.” 

Donut interrupts before they can entrench themselves in a confusing sock-puppet argument. “Is that why you’re here?”

O’Malley’s answer is a normal, but also like, vaguely menacing, “Excuse me?” 

“To say stuff Doc’s too mild mannered to express. Isn’t that what you do?”

“Shut up.” O’Malley snatches a water bottle from the foot of his chair and chucks it, perfectly striking over Donut’s heart and bouncing harmlessly off his breastplate. “Getting in people’s heads is _my_ thing.”

Leave it to Doc to only wrench back control for an apology. “Aw jeez, sorry about him, Donut. I swear I’ve been Space Googling ways to control an alter ego. Turns out Future WikiHow is better at emergency surgical advice.”

He’s still formulating his reply when, over Doc’s shoulder, Donut sees Temple round the corner with an armful of what Sarge would call ‘mechanical whatnots and doohickeys.’ 

Speaking of duality. Temple nails that same uncanny valley of more or less having Church’s face with a distinctly un-Church vibe. Especially when he turns that obviously trying-too-hard-to-be-charming smile on them, like he’s doing right this second. Now, Donut would never fault a man for wanting to appear friendly. There’s just something he can’t put his finger on in the way this one approaches their table- in the way his head tilts up as his eyes bore down. He comes to a halt next to Doc’s chair and raises a calming hand when they move to rise.

“Don’t trouble yourselves. I was just passing by. Hope I’m not interrupting… ?” 

Luckily, Doc cranes his head up and handles the niceties while Donut thinks.

“Not at all, Mark! You guys all back from the supply run already?”

Temple gestures to himself, spreading his hands. “Just me, I’m afraid. Hurried home for a few extraction tools Loco forgot. You know how he is.”

Which one was that again? Donut races to catch up but snags on a detail. “Sorry- ‘Mark’?” he asks Doc, but Temple speaks up first.

“Of course! My dear friends and honored guests are all welcome to be as familiar and candid with me as they please.” Eye contact with him is more piercing than any Donut can remember sharing with Church. “How about it, Donut?” He briefly turns it on Doc. “O’Malley?”

Donut is strangely lost for words a second time in as many minutes. He thought _he_ liked to hear himself talk, but Temple really knows how to steamroll the competition.

O’Malley, not even pretending to consider, has no such difficulty. 

“Thanks, but no thanks. Have a nice day,” he drawls, waving at the nearest exit.

“My, my, the Reds and Blues didn’t exaggerate your temper. Could I at least know why you’re so bent on the cold distance? Frank is much more agreeable.”

That seems to get under O’Malley’s skin. “ _Doc_ may be extra chummy with you lot, but I’ve been around the other troopers longer.”   
  


“Hm. So it’s a matter of time, is it? It’s true I don’t know you that well yet.” Temple rests a hand on the back of Doc’s neck. “But I’d like to.”

O’Malley slaps his hand off with entirely more force than necessary. _“I decline,”_ he hisses.

The silence that follows is strained, fraught with the kind of tension that’s no fun at all. Donut can’t even glean the meaning of the staring contest the two of them are ignoring him to conduct.

Eventually, Temple folds his arms behind his back. “I see. No matter,” he mutters as though they can’t all still hear him, “Whatever keeps things civil.” Then the smile and bright pitch return with a vengeance. “I should be going, regardless. Though, I hope you’ll soon spare a dinner for me, too, Frank.” He glances at Donut, an afterthought. “DuFresne, that is. Let’s you and I have a nice one-on-one chat sometime.” 

Doc takes a gulp of Donut’s wine, and he’s about to protest when he recognizes the stalling tactic. Doc seems to be juggling a conversation only he can hear as he fumbles for an answer. “Um. Sure, no problem. I’ll uh- see you later, Temple.” 

Temple’s intensely amicable atmosphere doesn’t recede a single inch, but thankfully he honors the dismissal this time. He nods, satisfied, and takes his leave. Donut isn’t sure why he’s thankful, until it clicks. Finally, all those years of poring over _Pride and Prejudice_ conversational arts have paid off. He has just enough patience to wait for at least one door to separate them and Temple.

“I knew it! You _are_ trying to help us, O’Malley!” 

“What.” he says, with less than half the sneer he spared Temple, Donut victoriously notes. “Lies! Slander! You are mistaken, you great pink marshmallow of a man. I’m doing nothing of the sort.”

And comfortable enough to make a rookie mistake. He should’ve known a flimsy jab and denial would only excite Donut more. “You are! You got Temple to back off! I mean he looked mostly fine to me, but you’re right, he’s kinda skeevy sometimes.”

“There’s a simple explanation. It’s just like I said. Getting in people’s heads is my gimmick, and he can’t have it. Because he is not me and therefore inferior, and also it’s mine.”

Donut crosses his arms, unimpressed.

“...Naturally,” O’Malley relents. “Figures that you’d be too optimistic to be swayed by another two-bit manipulation.” He leans his chin on his palm, urging their faces closer. “Or too stupid.” 

“Nuh-uh, nice try, but I won’t be distracted! You care about us! Or Doc. Probably just Doc, huh? But that’s progress!” 

O’Malley, whose expression twisted with growing displeasure at each consecutive exclamation, manages to repeat the ‘what’ with double the incredulity before Doc cuts him off.

“I don’t know about all that, but yeah, maybe you’re onto something with Temple there… Wait.” He gasps and the thump of his comprehending fist rattles the silverware. “Are you counselling me? Us? Wow, I changed my mind-” and Donut chooses not to be miffed that he looks more interested than he has all evening, “-this is so cool!”

Their head jerks to one side. “I cannot stress enough how absolutely uncool this is.”

And back again. “Hang on, so, were you trying to tell us O’Malley is good, actually? That some people sprout violent split personalities to cope?”

He breathes in and musters his most careful tone of voice. “Well. He has a purpose. That isn’t explicitly evil. Maybe having him around isn’t so bad!” 

Donut recoils in shock when, he double checks, it is Doc who huffs at him. “Sure, yeah, because I love to be a raging, rocket-launching monster who raises his body count without an operating table and a series of understandable mistakes.”

He tuts. “Now, now, Debby Downer. You’re not a monster, neither of you.”

“Donut, he kills people!”

“So do we! So do aliens! So do meteors! He isn’t special.”

Doc gives him a flat look. “You’re not funny.”

“Maybe not. But it’s war. The guys have always treated-” he waves his hand meaninglessly, “stuff- like this. We’re all just trying to come out the other side you know?”

Doc squints harder.

“Not like- okay if you point it out that’s on you.”

Donut isn’t quite sure who smirks at him right then.

Emboldened, he forges on. “Look. The important thing is that no matter how many murders or abductions or universe-unravelling mistakes we commit, we all stick together.” Donut offers his most confident, promising wink and grin combo. “Because that’s what friends do.”

A slight smile graces Doc’s mouth, but quickly begins to fade. “Friends… I mean, that’s great and all I just- ugh I don’t know.” He rubs his hands down his cheeks. “Maybe if my brain weren’t constantly trying to kill me too, everything wouldn’t be so tough.”

Donut’s heroic pose deflates. “Oh, come on, I _just_ told you to reconsider about him.”

Somehow it seems like Doc’s reply is more to himself than anyone else. “I didn’t mean him.”

He can’t suppress a wince at that. The desperation to think of a cheerful change of topic only serves to extend the deepening silence. With the subject well and truly dead, Donut takes to swirling around the dredges of wine in the bottom of his glass. Just when the space whalesong begins to stick out from the other background noise, Doc’s murmuring demands his focus again.

“I don’t like it here.”

Donut tries to coax more out with a questioning hum.

“Underwater.”

Doc won’t meet his eyes, staring into the murky gloom, but O’Malley picks up the slack a moment later, snapping their face back towards Donut like it took considerable effort. He leans them back against their chair in forced relaxation.

“Finally, something we can agree on. This place is a dump. The Blues and Reds might be superior conversationalists, but they’re abysmal at evil lair real estate.”

“Huh.” Donut is considering Doc’s words, almost forming a serious comment before O’Malley’s register. “Wait, evil?”

His snickering is an eerie echo through the maze-like halls, spreading and petering out until it’s just Doc, sitting quietly, gaze firmly dropped to his empty plate.

Donut makes a decision. He rounds the table to hug him. It’s awkward and their combined armor digs into terrible places, but he fights it with pure enthusiasm. He hangs on so long he squeezes an absurd, unstable laugh from Doc, one that snowballs into O’Malley-trademarked maniacal. 

Donut doesn’t let go.


End file.
